He was late.
Ruth shifted from foot to foot while she scanned the museum.
He’d always been late, she supposed: her friends had been born with soulmate timers that read eighteen, twenty, maybe twenty-two years. Ruth’s had read twenty-six years, three days, and 13 hours.
Now it read 30 seconds, and her “blind date,” the love of her life, was late. Didn’t he have a timer, too? Ruth had heard horror stories, one-way loves…
“Put your hands up. Stay cool and nobody gets hurt!” A strong grip pulled Ruth against a sturdy body. The wrist against her throat beeped 0:00.
Written to the prompt here: https://promptuarium.wordpress.com/2016/05/30/countdown-to-love/. 100 words.
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